


The Gravy One

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Freudian Slips [3]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23700841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: I’d been casting around for a while for a new series, and here we have Freudian Slips. The premise is, one or other of Strike and Robin says or does something to give away their feelings/closeness, and either they or the other one doesn’t notice it. Or maybe neither of them notices it and a friend or colleague does. As always, requests gratefully received in the comments or over on Tumblr @lulacat3.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Series: Freudian Slips [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1645858
Comments: 20
Kudos: 62





	The Gravy One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heatherbee22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heatherbee22/gifts).



> A gift for heatherbee22, for lots of lovely prompts. The one the muse leapt on was “perhaps one where they are having a meal out with Wardle and April or Nick and Ilsa and they start absent mindedly picking bits of each other’s food (e.g Strike takes all the onion off Robin’s plate)...” I actually made it Wardle and Vanessa, thought it might stand out more in a work situation.

“Thanks for coming.” Eric Wardle slid onto the bench seat opposite Strike and Robin, sliding along so that his partner, Vanessa Ekwensi, could sit too. The Feathers was packed; it was the lunchtime rush, every table full, groups of police and office workers clustered around the bar or standing in small groups in hope of getting a table. Strike and Robin had been lucky to secure one. Robin had just beaten a group of young men to it as the previous occupants stood, and her dazzling smile had prevented them complaining where Strike was pretty sure he’d have got an argument.

Vanessa and Robin grinned at one another. They’d bonded during the last year. Robin had spent several nights with Vanessa when she first left Matthew, and found her new friend’s no-nonsense approach to life refreshing. They went to a weekly Zumba class on Wednesday evenings, and these days often for a quick drink afterwards.

“It’s no bother,” Strike said now. “We were round the corner on another case. Are you eating? We’ve ordered food, it seemed to be a condition of having the table.”

Wardle shook his head. “We can’t stop long,” he replied. “We’ve got to be in a department meeting at two.”

“And I’ve had my sandwiches,” Vanessa added.

Robin grinned. “I’m having salad with my chips, does that count as healthy?”

Vanessa laughed. “You eat all the chips you like, you walk miles every day,” she said. “I’ve been stuck at my desk all week reviewing CCTV footage.”

“Speaking of which—” and Wardle launched into their findings, and what evidence he was hoping the slightly less by-the-book methods that their private detective friends were able to employ might secure.

The food arrived while he was still talking - steak pie and chips for Strike and quiche, chips and salad for Robin. Wardle broke off his explanation while the waitress fussed about fetching cutlery and condiments, and waited till she’d bustled back to the kitchen before starting again, lowering his voice.

“So, you know, if any of your contacts happened to overhear anything, or even better, happened to have any video they’d taken that had some sound we might use...” He trailed off delicately.

Strike grinned as he broke open his pie with his knife and dunked a chip in the rich gravy. “I’ll ask around,” he said, stuffing the chip in his mouth. It had been a long morning, and he was hungry.

Satisfied, Wardle sat back and took a welcome draught of his pint.

“And there really wasn’t anything on the CCTV camera that points along Barker Street?” Robin asked Vanessa. She picked up a chip and reached across to dip it in the gravy swimming across Strike’s plate and popped it in her mouth, her eyebrow raised.

Vanessa sighed and shook her head. “I’ve personally checked all night, every night, for the last ten days,” she said. “Which even on fast-forward has taken me hours and hours. No sign of him. We’ve got absolutely nothing to tie him to the scene. He’s a crafty bugger.”

“Fingerprints?” Strike asked indistinctly around a mouthful of pie.

“We’d need a warrant to go in,” Wardle replied. “And then they’d know we’re onto them. And I don’t think we’ve got enough circumstantial evidence to secure a warrant yet anyway. This needs a more subtle approach.”

“What about...” Robin trailed off, thinking, delicately picking out the onion from her salad with her knife and fork and piling it on the side of her plate. “I mean, if we can get mobile footage of him going in and out, would that be enough?”

Wardle watched as Strike scooped up the little pile of onion from the edge of Robin’s plate and dumped it on his own, stirring it into the gravy. “I still think we need to go slowly on this one,” he mused. “If they get any hint that we’re showing an interest, they’ll just pack up and move on. It’s such a mobile outfit, and it’s taken us weeks to track them down. We’d be back to square one.” He cast a sideways glance at Vanessa, who looked away.

Strike drained the rest of his pint and stood. “You having another?”

Wardle sighed reluctantly. “Best not, the boss is running the meeting this afternoon,” he replied. “Wouldn’t do to go in reeking of booze.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Vanessa said as Strike raised an eyebrow at her.

The burly detective made his way to the bar with his empty glass, and Vanessa turned to Robin. “You look like you’ve got an idea.”

Robin pulled a face. “I was vaguely wondering about sending Shanker in,” she said, picking up another chip. “But then you might end up having to rely on evidence that could be shown to come from rather dodgy means.” She dipped the chip into Strike’s gravy, avoiding the onion, and put it in her mouth.

Vanessa nodded. “Yeah, I think we need to tread very carefully for now,” she replied. “Keep it all as above board as we can. Keep that idea on the back burner, though, we’re not ruling it out.”

Wardle nodded, and glanced at his watch again as Strike returned to the table with a pint for himself and an orange juice for Robin which he set next to her wine glass. “We’d better go,” he said with a sigh.

Strike plonked himself back into his chair. “Really looking forward to your meeting?” he teased.

Wardle pulled a face. “Disadvantage of the hierarchy,” he replied.

Strike grinned. “Nobody makes me go to meetings.”

“I do sometimes,” Robin retorted. “When the diary gets muddled.”

“True,” her partner conceded. “But that’s not often.”

Vanessa stood and picked up her coat. “I’ll see you tomorrow night?” she said to Robin.

Robin nodded, her mouth full of quiche, and stuck her thumb up.

Wardle drained his pint and slid out of the booth. “See you, Gooner. And thanks.”

Strike nodded. “Any time.”

The police officers made their way across to the door and stepped out onto the pavement. Wardle pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one.

“Again?” Vanessa eyed him sideways. “I’ll tell April.”

Wardle smirked at her. “No, you won’t,” he replied, and she laughed.

“You’re right, I won’t. I’m not a snitch.”

They strolled past the window and raised a hand to Strike and Robin at their table. Strike had slid his plate to the middle so they could share the gravy.

“Are you quite sure there’s nothing going on there?” Wardle mused as they walked on towards Scotland Yard.

“Quite sure,” Vanessa replied. “You see what I mean, though?”

“Definitely.”

“And she says ‘we’ all the time when we’re chatting in the cafe after Zumba,” Vanessa went on. “I mean, I know they’re a team, I get it. ‘We think this’ or ‘we discovered that’. But last week it was ‘when we were at a barbecue...’”

“They could be at it and keeping it secret.”

Vanessa snorted. “Well, they’d be doing a pretty poor job of hiding it.”

Wardle laughed.

“No, I think Robin would tell me,” Vanessa added thoughtfully. “I think she’s genuinely oblivious.”

“Hmm.”

“Got time for coffee before the meeting?”

“Yeah, if we’re quick. Might keep us awake.”

“Yeah!”

Wardle dropped his cigarette end into the gutter, and the two officers climbed the steps and pushed their way back into Scotland Yard.


End file.
